


Some Pray For Redemption

by missingnolovefic



Series: Eternity, Eventually [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Temporary Character Death, death!ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-01 13:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15774783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnolovefic/pseuds/missingnolovefic
Summary: Death is impartial, but Ryan is not. Not since he met Gavin.





	Some Pray For Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to _Nothing Left To Say_

Life is more complicated than most would assume. It has many facets, many aspects, many _faces_ , and Ryan is one of them. One of many spectres of death, always looming, omnipresent. He’s never met another Reaper and he never will. To meet himself would create a paradox, and Time is unforgiving of those.

He’s been travelling aimlessly across the states, more than enough souls to reap, when he’s drawn to Los Santos. The city is a deathtrap, the rate of murder even higher than the usual big city in the US. More than enough to keep him busy, to keep him long enough to gain a reputation.

A dark figure, a glimpse of a skull, and soon the deaths are ascribed to him.

That’s happened before, but it’s been rare enough that it gives Ryan pause. Long enough that people start to track him down, offering him money for specific souls to vanish sooner than others. Ask him who he is, and he tells them. Yet clearly they don’t believe him, or think he’s being dramatic. Grim Reaper that travels where he’s needed, a vagabond of death, and soon that’s what they start calling him: Vagabond.

People coming up to him, looking for him in the hopes to use him for their own gains, their own advantage is new enough to catch his interest. Ryan picks up a mask and a dark jacket, ironic in their mundanity. He never stays with one group longer than another, until he does. Bright smile and tired eyes, voice just as oily as he speaks of _just one job_ and _temporary basis_. Wary eyes that follow him, a crew that’s just like any other in this city, except…

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

The question catches him off-guard. He looks at the human - Gavin, the hacker, always curious but keeps his distance more pointedly than the others. Nothing special, except. For the first time in centuries, time slows down. Ryan feels anchored to the present, to this very moment. He looks at Gavin, and it’s like he truly sees him for the first time.

“Do you?” he returns the question, but Ryan already knows the answer. Can see the connection between the human and death - vapid, barely there, the reason why he missed it. One of the rare humans who can feel Death’s touch, and he wonders, suddenly, if that’s why this one avoided him for so long.

“No one knows what happens after we die, right?”

Ryan does. He keeps his mouth shut, less he tells him.

Gavin is a curious little human, now that Ryan is paying attention. Full with fascinating questions and ridiculous scenarios, and it never gets boring by his side. Ryan starts seeking him out, helpless, drawn like a moth to a light. Gavin is a bright beacon in a world that is ever-changing static, so Ryan ends up staying with this crew. Starts noticing how they _are_ different, just as jaded as the rest of the city but hopeful, determined to change it. Not just leave their mark, but leave it for the better.

It’s through Gavin that he notices Jeremy’s dark humour, Jack’s quiet teasing, Michael’s protective glower, and finds himself amused. Attached to these humans in a way he shouldn’t be because he’s _Death_ and death is impartial. It comes for everyone, eventually, but sooner for adrenaline junkies, for criminals who throw themselves in dangerous fights almost daily.

And always, at the center of it all: Gavin.

Gavin, who protects the crew, who stays far away from the fight but still guides them, tries to keep them safe. Hacks into systems and alerts them to guard movement, cuts the police signal and leads the cops on a wild goose chase. Gavin, who worries, hands always fidgeting as they pile back into the penthouse, bruised and exhausted but buoyed by their success. Fusses over them, ice packs and first aid kits, hands brushing over them as he hovers, until he’s sure they’re really alright.

Ryan, too, now. Not that he can be hurt but it feels… _nice_.

Ryan protects them as well, out there, keeps them safe in shoot-outs in small, unnoticeable ways. The trajectory of a bullet curving to barely miss Michael’s head, a guard experiencing sudden heartburn just before they could spot Geoff poking his head out at the wrong time, another surveillance guard fighting a coughing fit just before the cameras start looping. Keeps them safe by stepping between the crew and the guns pointed their way, head thrown back and laughing at the irony. He is death, he is impartial; this is his crew. He will have to come for them, eventually, and the thought leaves his chest tight, his breath catching as laughter peters out.

He doesn’t know how to show he cares. Doesn’t know how humans interact, and now that he’s starting to notice things, he realizes it bothers him. That his crew don’t have any idea how much they have grown on him, of the wary glances send his way, the careful distance.

Doesn’t know how to break it, either, so he observes.

For the first time in centuries, Ryan pays attention. Watches Gavin interact with the rest of the crew, watches him bring Geoff a coffee when the man is working late, watches him distract Jack until his shoulders relax, banter easy between them. Watches as they return the favour, Michael bringing Gavin pastries from the coffeeshop down the block when he’s locked himself into his office, Jeremy jumping eagerly to the bait when Gavin makes one of his crazy suggestions. They show their affection in a confusing mix of harsh insults and understated actions, by taking care of each other’s needs without voicing it. Bumped shoulders and squeezed arms, deep breaths and thankful smiles.

So, Ryan tries that, too. He starts slow, experimental. He starts with Gavin, because of course.

Brings Gavin coffee one morning, keeps seeking him out to talk. Isn’t really sure what about, but Gavin makes it easy, babbling away about random facts that interest him. Ryan only has to listen, and when Gavin inevitably makes outrageous claims, he corrects him, resulting in something similar to the easy banter Gavin engages in with the rest of the crew. Not the same, never exactly the same, but close enough that Ryan is content with the results. It’s _theirs_ , in the same way Michael and Gavin have incredulous nicknames for each other, _personal_ , just between them.

The others start to notice when Ryan brings in donuts, nudging them awkwardly across the meeting table so the box sits next to Gavin, who has his nose stuck in his phone. Michael and Jeremy exchange a look that leaves Ryan shifting uncomfortably in his chair. It’s Jack, though, who escalates things in that infuriating manner he has. Explains the others’ behaviour about the situation and clarifies Ryan’s mistake, but not without taking advantage first, and Ryan doesn’t know if he should be mad or not.

“Thank you for bringing snacks to the meeting, Vagabond,” Jack says, face all serious but eyes dancing with mischief. He reaches across Gavin’s arms, getting only a token protest as the hacker has to angle his phone to keep looking at the screen. Reaches across and fishes out one of the sugary treats from the box that are meant for _Gavin_ , and Jack _knows it_ , the bastard.

“Yes, thank you,” Michael drawls, keeping eye contact the whole time as he follows Jack’s lead and grabs a donut, too. Jeremy makes a strangled noise as he jumps on the wagon and snatches two at once, Geoff absently grabbing one as he passes by Gavin on the way to the front, and Ryan quietly despairs as Gavin remains the only one oblivious to his gift of nourishment.

Lesson learned. Next time, he brings in several boxes of pastries for the crew, but only one crazy frappuccino mix for Gavin. Jack looks at him with a raised brow and mouths _point made_.

After that, he starts  branching out a little. Stays behind to talk car mods with Jack, joins in on teasing Geoff. Buys Jeremy a cowboy hat to help shield his eyes after the other complains about misplacing his sunglasses. Sits down with Michael for weapon maintenance, exchanging heavily edited stories about past shenanigans, of a childhood that’s mostly lies, and leaves Michael looking at him weird, as if he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be in on the joke.

“So. Gavin,” Michael says suddenly, after Ryan just turned _The devil went down to Georgia_ into his origin story.

“Yes?” Ryan asks, sliding the last sharpened knife into its sheath. There’s a lot of them, piled around his chair in a big heap. “What about him?”

“He’s an annoying little shit, but he’s _my_ annoying little shit, if you get my drift.”

Ryan doesn't, and it must show on his face because Michael groans, rubbing a hand over his face and muttering curses under his breath.

“Just don’t kill him,” Michael finally settles on after the silence stretches between them. His voice is light, but his eyes are serious. “If you hurt him, I _will_ come after you.”

Ryan cocks his head because that's a sentiment he can relate to. He stands up, puts his hand on Michael’s shoulder the way he’s seen Geoff do when he tries to be reassuring.

“Don’t worry. When I inevitably have to kill you all, I’ll keep him for last,” he promises. He means it, too, and that’s something he’ll have to mull over.

“...that’s not morbid at all,” Michael mutters, and Ryan can feel his eyes on him as he leaves.

The conversation does make him realize that while he cares about the crew, Gavin is… different. The most important, to Ryan. He _would_ put off reaping his soul, and that realization strikes him at his very core. It’s against his nature to play favourites, because death is impartial… But Ryan is not, he’s coming to realize, and that’s a problem. Is partial towards these particular humans, but especially Gavin. Doesn’t know what to do when the time comes, but for once he decides to live in the moment. Anchored to the present through the Fakes, through Gavin.

A lot of late night television, and Ryan is more confused than ever about human behaviour. He does, however, gain the understanding that if someone is special to you, you buy them plants.

Gavin is special to Ryan, so he buys a cactus.

Gavin, forever watching over those he cares about, notices and buys him a hundred and seventeen cacti, and Ryan isn’t sure what that means. They’re plants, though, and you buy plants for your special people, so maybe Gavin feels the same way?

Gavin smiles when Ryan puts some of the cacti into his office, painstakingly chosen to fit into the small space _just so_ , and Ryan takes that for a good sign. It leaves him with a hundred and fourteen cacti, and after careful contemplation, he decides to keep thirteen in his room and share the rest with the crew. He may not have a hundred and one _special someones_ , but he’s never attached himself to a crew before, therefore they must count. He hopes the message gets across.

“Next time, please buy him something more practical,” Jeremy demands from his chair at the kitchen table, watching Ryan shove the spices into the fridge to make room on the shelves for the last ten cacti. The table is already overcrowded with a garden of them.

“Practical?” Ryan asks quizzically, carefully nudging a third of the smallest plants between the other two.

“Yeah. Like weapons. We could at least use weapons when things get out of hand. Again,” Jeremy points out plaintively. Ryan pauses, eyeing cactus number ninety-seven thoughtfully. Jeremy is a human, surely he understands these ritual gestures better. It’s not what he’s seen on television, but even they point out that some gifts need to be specific to that _special someone_.

“Thanks.”

Jeremy shakes his head, but his voice is fond. “Anytime, buddy.”

Ryan’s just putting the last of the plants away (on top of the fridge, the trays can lean against the cupboards for now), when there is a loud, cut-off screech. Ryan walks out of the kitchen to find Geoff standing in the elevator doors, mouth opening and closing. Behind him, Jack is stifling his giggles.

“What- How- WHAT,” Geoff squeaks, his hands waving through the air wildly. “When did- why is- WHAT HAPPENED? Who turned my home into a freakin’ _greenhouse_? That’s not what I meant with mi casa es su casa!”

Ryan levels Geoff a look because he speaks _all_ languages, and that is indeed what that phrase is meant to convey. Geoff catches his gaze, and his mouth snaps shut with an audible click.

“Gavin bought them,” Jeremy offers helpfully, trailing behind to watch the spectacle unfold.

“That little-!”

“For Vagabond.”

Geoff visibly deflates, eyes darting from Jeremy, to Ryan, to the plants cluttering every available surface within the penthouse.

“That-” He starts and stops. Takes a step inside as the elevator doors try closing on him again. “But…” His eyes meet Ryan, who stares back placidly. “Even on the tables?” he asks plaintively.

“ _All_ the tables,” Jeremy informs him gleefully. Ryan lets the silence speak for itself.

“But… I…” Geoff shoots Jack a helpless look. “Where do we eat?”

“On the couch,” Ryan points out, tilting his head. That’s where they always end up eating in the penthouse, and he isn’t sure why Geoff asks.

“...on the couch,” Geoff repeats, voice pitched high, but not quite a question. “Right.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Jack murmurs, patting his shoulder reassuringly, though Ryan doesn’t quite understand why reassurance is needed, or why Geoff is acting like it’s the end of the world. He nods helpfully, anyway.

He follows Jeremy’s advice and buys Gavin a knife next, quality blade and easy to handle, perfectly weighted to use as a throwing knife in an emergency. It gets lost among all the other knives cluttering the penthouse before Gavin even notices, or maybe he sees it but doesn’t realize it’s a gift. Ryan observes carefully and comes to the conclusion that he needs to be more obvious about his intentions.

He sends a gift box next. Another weapon, but this one much more noticable, gold rather than gunmetal silver, with Gavin’s name engraved in the barrel to make sure it cannot be mistaken for anyone else’s.

When Gavin asks him to accompany him to the shooting range, to practice with his new gun, Ryan counts it as a success.

Physical gifts aren’t the only ways Ryan expresses his affection. He notices Gavin shiver when he passes by a ghost, his shoulders hunched. It happens rarely enough because his presence forced the ghosts in the penthouse to move on. Reapers don’t wait for lingering souls, the most stubborn of which turn into ghosts long after Death has swept through town. These things happen, occasionally. Death may be everywhere, but Death never bothers to show the way to a stubborn soul twice. If they cling to life for too long, if they test Death’s patience, no matter what facet of him, Ryan will move on because there’s always, always more souls to take care of. It’s not his job to aid them, that’s why mediums exist: to guide the lost souls past lingering attachments and on to the afterlife.

Before, Ryan would just spend a thought to sending the lingering souls on when he passed them by, but now he has Gavin to think of. He wants Gavin to feel safe in his own home, or wherever the crew hangs out. Wants Gavin to be able to stop, to sit down and enjoy himself, without being distracted by ghostly wailing or the glimpse of afterlife in the corner of his eyes. So Ryan starts hunting them down, the ghosts, seeking out the lost souls of Los Santos and reaping them long after their time.

Already breaking the rules and eons of habits for this one, singular human.

Ryan pushes the thought away, because the implications… he’s not ready to face that.

And then Gavin falls asleep on him, and Ryan doesn’t dare move all night, less he wakes him. Tired from pulling several all-nighters in a row to protect the crew, and he’s sleeping before they’re even a third into the movie. The others joke and mock and needle him, and Ryan submits to the crew’s quiet teasing with merely a glare and a hiss when they get too loud, _do you want to wake him, assholes_?

The others have long since left when Ryan dares to drop his hand on Gavin’s back, fingers trailing along his spine. Feels the warmth radiating from his skin, spreading through his palm and into his chest. Feels at peace, in a way he’s never felt before.

He can’t stay away from Gavin after that. Seeks him out whenever he can, touches him, his skin warm under his cold fingers. Gavin looks for him, too, and that soothes his nerves a little, because constantly there’s this niggling worry in the back of his mind, concern that he’s doing this wrong, that he’s not expressing himself right. He doesn’t want to scare Gavin away.

According to TV, the next step would be to touch his lips to Gavin’s, in what humans call a “kiss”, but the TV also shows different reactions to said “kiss”. Apparently all humans want it, but not from the wrong person, and how can Ryan know he is the right person for Gavin to kiss? It’s confusing, and it’d be easier if Gavin took that first step because Ryan is at a loss, but once he starts thinking about it, he wonders how different a brush of lips might feel to a brush of fingers, and he eyes Gavin’s lips, looking smooth and plush and red, reaches out with his hand, cups his face-

“Ryan?”

Gavin’s voice, filled with surprise. Ryan realizes too late that thoughts turned to actions, and Gavin’s lips are soft under his.

“Sorry,” he says reflexively, because this is something special between humans, and he’s still not sure what the right thing to do is, but Gavin isn’t reacting how any of the people on TV react, and what does that mean? It’s not a happy reaction, he doesn’t say anything about wanting it for so long, and Ryan’s fucked up, he has fucked up now, he needs to apologize immediately, try to save this, whatever _this_ is- “Fuck, shit, I- Sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Presses his fist against the wall to remind him of reality, because Gavin is right here, but he just keeps _looking_ at Ryan with that unfathomable look that Ryan has no chance of interpreting, and Ryan is lost in the storm of emotions he’s not used to feeling.

Hands on his collar, and Ryan closes his eyes, ready to accept whatever punishment Gavin sees fit. Grunts as Gavin pulls him closer, opens his mouth to apologize again, except there’s a mouth on his, muffling his words, and Ryan blinks his eyes open. Stares because what else can he do? Soft lips pushing against his firmly, fingers tightening in his shirt, warm breath washing over his face, and Gavin presses closer still, until he finally, abruptly pulls back.

“Don’t bloody apologize, you mong!”

Gavin stares up at him, shakes him, breathless and a little wide-eyed.

“Sorry?” Ryan says and then laughs as the realization sinks in: Gavin kissed him back and according to all his research this means he feels the _same_. He meets Gavin halfway, sinks into the kiss, overwhelmed and giddy, enjoying this new sensation.

They keep kissing, not just that day, but the days that follow after. It becomes greeting and goodbye, replaces the silence and words between them for a while. Not that they no longer speak, but Gavin seems particularly invested at getting Ryan to initiate kisses, gleefully goading him and only shutting up when the words are muffled between their lips.

Nothing else really changes.

The crew knows at first glance what’s up, leaving Ryan to ponder if humans really don’t have low level telepathy. But no, they must have guessed, or perhaps the human rituals of courtship are just that obvious. Gavin never announces their new status, so neither does Ryan, but the crew knows anyway and they are the only people who matter.

Nothing really changes because everything has already changed, this is just the final step that seals it. Already Ryan breaks the rules, builds attachments to his crew, his humans. Is _dating_ one of his humans, his Gavin. Reapers aren’t supposed to go after lost souls, take care of ghosts. It’s not his jurisdiction. He does it anyway, because he loves Gavin, and less ghosts leave Gavin happier. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for him, Ryan comes to realize, brushing his fingers through gold-bleached hair.

Reapers aren’t supposed to play favourites, either, and yet. Yet here he is, forcing Gavin’s soul back into his body.

Because Gavin, okay. Rarely leaves the crew’s safehouses, normally sequestered away in his little office at the penthouse. A voice on the comms, never on the frontlines. Safe.

But for some reason, perhaps bolstered by the fact that Ryan accompanies him n jobs these days, or maybe it’s the lack of ghosts, of reminders- whatever the reason, Gavin has been taking more outside jobs. Small things: meetings with long-term allies or his own informants, branching out slowly. Weapons deal, negotiating turf. Gavin has a way to get under the humans’ skin, a toss up whether they’ll end up inexplicably liking him or hate his guts.

This time, it seemed to be the former. Smiles and laughter and weapons remained sheathed. Everything went perfect, and Ryan just started to relax, turning to Gavin and offering to pay for dinner-

“Wake up,” Ryan demands, his fingers cold against Gavin’s warm chest. He feels the soul hesitate, wraps the broken chain of the anchor firmly around his hand, pushes it back inside to fuse with the unmoving heart.

“I can’t,” Gavin whispers, or maybe it’s his soul. It makes no difference to Ryan, because Gavin is _not. allowed. to die._

“Yes, you fucking can.”

Everything was perfect until the sniper on the roof. A bullet out of nowhere, and Ryan distracted by Gavin’s radiant smile-

“‘Schtings,” Gavin mumbles, or maybe thinks, Ryan doesn’t discriminate well in his schock. Too busy between cursing himself and keeping Gavin’s soul anchored to his body, the chain wrapped tightly around his no longer beating heart.

Blood pooling on the pavement under him, fury coursing through his veins, and a sniper still on the roof.

“No, that’s the bullet wound. You need to learn to dodge.”

“Where… West,” Gavin mumbles nonsensically, but Ryan doesn’t pay the words much mind, staring at his lips. Lips that move to form words, a good sign, he must be on the right track- “Next time…”

“Oh, there’s not gonna be a next time if I can help it,” Ryan swears, cupping Gavin’s face, pulling him into a gentle kiss. Breathes out, breathes air and _life_ , breaks another rule because this is _Gavin_ , bright, brilliant _Gavin_ , and Ryan cannot imagine existence without him.

Ryan is an aspect of Life, is _Death_ , and he gives himself to Gavin completely. Breathes air and life, his very _essence_ into Gavin, and he has no way of knowing if this’ll work, never done this before, but he _needs_ , desperately. Because Life is Death, and Death is Ryan, but Ryan is no one without Gavin, needs Gavin _alive_ not _dead_ , and-

And then he is. Gavin gasps, sitting up abruptly and hacking up a lung. Ryan moves back, gives him space even when he wants nothing more than to crowd him, to hold him close and never let go.

“I died,” Gavin rasps, stares down at his chest, doesn’t look up, doesn’t meet Ryan’s eyes.

“Yes,” Ryan agrees, and it comes out sharper than he intended. But Gavin’s heart is beating in his chest, and Ryan strokes his thumb over the skin slowly warming back up as life floods through his veins. Ryan can feel it, can feel his essence twining through Gavin’s body with every breath he takes. Changing him, the price he has to pay for surviving when he should have died, but Ryan can’t regret it because Gavin is _alive._

He helps Gavin up onto his feet, and if it weren’t for the blood soaking into his shirt, pooling on the street, it’s as if nothing happened. Gavin stares at his hands, touches his chest, before his head snaps up and he stares at Ryan. Opens his mouth, closes it, and Ryan can only stare hungrily because he’s _here_ and _alive_ and moving under his own free will. 

“Ryan?”

Gavin’s voice sounds small, and he shivers, wrapping his arms around himself, eyes wide as he stares at Ryan. His gaze flickers behind him, and Ryan closes his eyes, unable to meet Gavin’s questioning gaze. Knows he’s starting to see Ryan for who he really is, and he’s not sure if that’s because of his near death experience, or because Ryan shared himself and all that he is to bring him back to life, but there’s undeniably _something_ in the air between them, some tension that hasn’t existed before, and Ryan can’t- can’t deal with it, not yet. Needs time, room to breathe, because…

Because he broke the rules, and he’s not sure what that means, for him or for Gavin.

But there’s something else, he has a job to do, unfinished business. Someone is supposed to die here, and he won’t allow it to be Gavin. The sniper’s still on the roof, and Ryan bends down to pick up his scythe, materializing from thin air with just a thought.

“It’s not your time yet,” he pronounces, and it rings with finality. He’s made his decision, and he’s sticking to it.

“It is though, innit,” Gavin mumbles, his voice sounding thick, like he has trouble forming the words. He reaches out, catches him by the sleeve, and Ryan glances down at that point of contact. “Ryan-”

There’s the sniper on the roof, possibly watching them. Ryan shakes his head, he cannot leave anyone to witness Gavin’s miraculous survival.

“I’ll be back,” he promises, eyes unerringly focussing on the roof. He stretches his wings, takes a step, and then he’s on the roof, towering over the sniper, who jerks back, gun dropping to the floor in shock. Ryan spreads his wings tall, casting a shadow over the human and swings his scythe.

  
Someone has to die here today, and it will _not_ be Gavin.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended this to be more of a sequel, but then it got long, and this was a good point to stop. I might tackle the sequel later, in a third part.


End file.
